


Why Future Sister-In-Laws Are Definitely Evil

by writeitininkorinblood



Series: Why Little Sisters Are Definitely Evil [2]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, OC, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:45:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5398178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeitininkorinblood/pseuds/writeitininkorinblood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“How did you get in here, squirt?” Spot sighed, feeling out of place in his own living room.<br/>She shrugged. “Tony gave me a spare key.”<br/>“No, he didn’t.” Spot crossed his arms, looking down his nose at her. She had no reason to need a key. The only time she visited was when Race picked her up from Long Island.<br/>“Gave me a spare key, didn’t happen to be looking as I took a spare key out of the sideboard, what’s the difference.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Future Sister-In-Laws Are Definitely Evil

**Author's Note:**

> At attempt at writing Spot. I liked Sofia too much as a character to not write this.
> 
> I have no idea why I decided his name should be Scott when 99% of the fandom called him Sean but I did and it stuck, so sorry if it annoys anyone.

Spot wanted nothing more than to watch some crappy reality TV with his boyfriend curled up against his side. Was that really too much to ask after a horrible day at work? Yes, apparently, since Race wasn’t due home for another two hours and Spot wasn’t sure he could even stay awake that long. He shoved his key into the lock like it was to blame for all his problems. As he opened the door he could hear the TV already on and his heart jumped. Maybe Race had come home early. Maybe he could have his perfect evening after all.

“Hey, I thought you- oh, it’s you.”

Spot’s happy mood was gone as quickly as it had arrived. Instead of Race sat on the sofa, Sofia had kicked her feet up and looked every bit a queen residing over her kingdom. Spot groaned. Why did the world hate him?

‘It is indeed.” Sofia just laughed and waved hello far too cheerfully.  
“How did you get in here, squirt?” Spot sighed, feeling out of place in his own living room. Race had let Sofia come and visit every now and then, providing she had the full permission of their parents, and if Spot agreed. And usually he did, as long as he got a week’s notice, because Sofia wasn’t all that bad. Spot knew Race had missed her the four years he hadn’t seen her, and Spot wanted Race to be happy.

She shrugged. “Tony gave me a spare key.”

“No, he didn’t.” Spot crossed his arms, looking down his nose at her. She had no reason to need a key. The only time she visited was when Race picked her up from Long Island.

“Gave me a spare key, didn’t happen to be looking as I took a spare key out of the sideboard, what’s the difference.” Sofia smirked a little, shuffling a cushion to make herself more comfortable on the sofa. Spot just groaned and ran his hands through his hair. He was too tired to deal with this now.

“He’s going to kill you.”

“Nope.” Sofia argued, popping the word off her tongue. “Because you could just tell him you let me in.”

“And why would I do that?”

Spot had no intention of letting her get away with things like this. She certainly didn’t need the encouragement, and Spot did not need the girl knocking on his door once a week. Or just letting herself in. He had to get that key back, and hide it somewhere.

“Because I’m going to be your sister-in-law.”

In the midst of his plans, Spot had almost forgotten he’d asked Sofia a question. But when he registered what she’d said he froze, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

“What?!”

Sofia held up a small black box that Spot recognised all too quickly. He’d spent at least one night a week since he’d bought the ring inside worrying his thumbs over the suede while Race slept beside him.

“Fuck.” Spot dropped onto the sofa, his legs reluctant to hold him up. “That’s not… I mean, it’s not- You have to stop going through our stuff, Sofia!” He yelled, trying to mask how uncomfortable he was with this conversation. Proposing, _marriage_ , it was all very personal and private and he did _not_ want to want to be talking to Sofia about it.

“I know it’s yours.” Sofia teased, tossing the ring box in the air and catching it. “So, you’re going to ask Tony to marry you?”

Spot wanted to grab the box, afraid she was going to drop it. Not that the ring would get damaged, but still. He wanted to protect it.

“I… Oh for fucks sake. I don’t know. Maybe,” Spot murmured, certain vulnerability was not a good look for him. He buried his face in his hands, feeling out of place and terrified. The government should hire thirteen-year-olds for interrogation work, if Sofia was any honest indication of how much information they could get out of people.

Sofia sat up, intrigued by Spot’s reaction and sensing more of a story than she’d expected. And if there was one thing she loved, it was some really good gossip.

“When?” She leaned forward, balancing her elbows on her knees, eyes wide with interest.

“Soon. Maybe. Or never. I don’t know. I’ve had that,” Spot gestured to the box in Sofia’s hands, “for almost a year.”

“So ask him already.”

Spot glared at her and crossed his arms, feeling awkward. Proposing would have to come with some big speech and Spot wasn’t good at that. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Race and want to spend the rest of his life with him, it was just that even the idea of putting that into words was daunting and unnerving. And what if Race said no? Spot definitely couldn’t do it. Nope. Not now, not ever.

‘He’d say yes.” Sofia interrupted his thoughts, seeming to know just what was bothering Spot. The usual teasing smirk was absent and Spot wasn’t sure what to make of her gentle side. He chewed at the inside of his lip and looked at the floor.

Sofia sighed. She was certain Race would say yes to Spot’s proposal but she couldn’t tell him how she knew. She hadn’t just found one ring box. She’d found two.

“Spot, really, he would.”

“Zip it, squirt,” Spot growled, not wanting to get his hopes up for when he did ask Race. Whenever he thought seriously about it (which he tried not to do often because there were only so many times you could imagine negative scenarios without being constantly paranoid), all he could see was Race saying no and packing his things, walking out their front door and never coming back. And just like that the best thing in his life would be gone. No one to come home to after a horrible day, no one to sleep beside at night, no one to watch television with or eat dinner with or celebrate anniversaries with. And it wasn’t even that he just wanted a person to do all that with, he wanted _Race_ to do all that with. He wasn’t even sure he’d want to be in a serious relationship with anyone else. Spot, as a rule, didn’t do relationships. Didn’t do the cute, intimate things you see in movies. Race had made himself the exception to that rule and Spot wouldn’t have it any other way. If Race left, Spot would never find that again.

Sofia didn’t share the same concerns.

“No, seriously. Cook him a great meal, surprise him when he’s home and boom, just ask.”

Sofia jumped up and grabbed Spot’s hand, dragging him in the direction of the kitchen and parking him in front of the fridge. As soon as Spot realised he was being pulled along by a _teenager_ , he snatched his hand back, scowling.

“Sofia! Stop! I’m not asking him today. Or next week. Or maybe not even next month. Or ever. I don’t want to,” he huffed.

“Then why the ring,” Sofia smirked knowingly, tossing the box in the air again.

“I…” Spot faltered. “Fuck off.”

“You do want to. You’re just scared he’ll say no. But he _won’t_. I know my brother.” Sofia smiled but Spot wasn’t having any of it, glaring back in return.

“And I know my boyfriend.” Spot argued, but to what end he wasn’t sure.

“Don’t you want to know your fiancé?”

Sofia held the box up in front of Spot’s eyes and he grabbed it from her, shoving it deep into his pocket to keep it safe.

“SOFIA!” He shouted, exasperated. Because yes, he wanted to be engaged to Race. He wanted there to be a ring on Race’s finger. He wanted Race to be his fiancé. He just didn’t want to do the actual asking part. Too much uncertainty. Too many feelings.

“Okay, okay.” She held her hands up in surrender. ‘Don’t ever ask him. Whatever. But what’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could say no.” Spot mumbled, amusement absent from his features. The answer was obvious. But Sofia just shrugged.  
“And what if he does? Then you acknowledge you’re not at the same point in your relationship and forget about getting married for a while.” The words sounded vaguely alien in the mouth of a thirteen-year-old, and Spot was sure she’d read them somewhere and was parroting them back to him.

Sofia jumped up to sit on the countertop and, although it was something that Race and Spot both routinely scolded her for, Spot just ignored it and hung his head. He didn’t want to talk about the worst possible situation, because he really, _really_ didn’t want it to happen. Unfortunately, Sofia was not one to let awkward subjects go and she kicked the heels of her feet back against the cupboard door, waiting for him to talk.

“What if he leaves?” Spot eventually gave in, lowering his voice to a whisper, not wanting to admit to his fears out loud. Not ever wanting to admit he had any fears at all. “What if it freaks him out and he leaves?”

Sofia made no concessions towards Spot’s agitation, instead moving on entirely to what to seemed to Spot like a new topic. Not that he wasn’t grateful to be able to stop considering the worst.

“Why do you want to get married anyway?” She asked, leaning back on her hands and cocking her head.

Spot sighed. All this girl ever did was ask questions. But they usually weren’t this bad, usually weren’t about how he felt. As a rule, Spot didn’t discuss his feelings. Even Race had trouble getting him to talk about things he’d prefer to keep supressed. Spot couldn’t tell if Sofia was an evil genius, or if she could just reach new levels of annoying that managed to coax answers of him, but either way he wasn’t happy about it.

“I don’t fucking know.” Spot groaned and ran his hands roughly through his hair. “Because we’re miserable as shit without each other. Because I can’t imagine a future without Tony in it. Because, for all his flaws, including his annoying-as-fuck family,” he shot an accusatory look at Sofia, “I really fucking love him.” It took a great deal of effort for Spot not to blush, but he just about managed it, digging his nails into the palms of his hands.  
“Tell him all that when you ask, and there’s no chance he’d leave you, even if he didn’t say yes. And he _will_ say yes.”

“Hey, conditional tense, please. I haven’t agreed to do anything.”  
A key suddenly sounded in the lock, and there was only one person other than Spot who had a key to the apartment (unless you included teenagers who had stolen one, of which Spot hoped there weren’t any more).

Spot panicked, staring down at the box in his hands. It was so obviously a ring box, and what other kind of ring would Spot have bought? He span around, looking frantically for somewhere he could safely stash it until he had a moment to return in to his drawer. Or maybe not to his drawer. To somewhere Sofia wouldn’t be able to find it. She just stifled a smirk as he eventually slid the box behind the wall and the back of the microwave just before Race spoke.

“Scotty, please tell me you’re home? My day was shit and I could really do with a, well just with you.” His voice sounded heavy and worn, and Spot really wished Sofia wasn’t there so they could have an uninterrupted night of reality TV and cuddles and sex.

“In here, love,” Spot shouted back, letting the endearment slip without even thinking about it. Sofia didn’t even try to muffle her giggles at the exchange and he flushed a little. ‘Sofia’s here, too,’ he added, wanting Race to have advance warning.

‘What? How?”

Race stepped into the kitchen, his brow furrowed with confusion. It took one glare from him to make Sofia hop down off the counter and Spot couldn’t help but be a little annoyed that she listened to Race and not to him.

“Fuck if I know. I think she teleports here.” Spot shrugged, long having given up on trying to get sensible answers out of Sofia by himself.  
“Got the bus this morning. Mum knows I’m here. I said you’d okayed it.” Sofia said merrily, as if there was no possible reason why she shouldn’t be there. In all fairness, it was the summer holidays, so she didn’t have to be at school, but she still shouldn’t have just turned up.

“Sofia,” Race sighed, “we’ve talked about this. We’re happy to have you visit, but you have to let us know first.”

“Fine, yeah, whatever.” She rolled her eyes.

Race just shook his head, willing to let it go for now but filing a metal note to have a word about it before dropping Sofia in the morning. He shuffled over to where Spot was leaning against the counter and smiled gently at him.

“You’re home early?” Spot phrased it as a question, holding out his arms for Race to step into.

“Missed you,” he mumbled, letting that function as an answer and leaning forward for a kiss that Spot gladly gave him.

“Eww,” Sofia complained, with unnecessary dramatics.

At first Race hadn’t wanted to be affectionate with Spot whilst Sofia was visiting. It was one thing to know your brother was gay, it was another to see him kiss and be close to another man. But Spot was, although he’d kill anyone who actually accused him of it, addicted to cuddling. They’d made it to the third visit before Spot had given up trying not to pull Race closer and sit at least a foot away from him on the sofa. When Spot had first wrapped his arms around Race when Sofia was there, Race had frozen, his eyes flying to his sister. She barely gave them a second glance, granting them a small smile that reassured Race more than he could say.

They’d worked up from brief hugs after then, to curling up together on the sofa and kisses on the cheek or forehead. Sofia only complained when they kissed each other on the lips, but Race was incredibly happy he could say he was certain she was just protesting because she was an exasperating teenager, not because she had a problem with them.

“My apartment, my boyfriend. I’ll kiss him if I want to.” Race said, only a vague tone of sternness in his voice. He kissed Spot again to prove his point. Also just because he wanted to kiss him.

Sofia just rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, your _boyfriend_.” The inflection on the last word was accompanied with a pointed look towards Spot. His eyes ballooned in shock, glaring at Sophia with warning saturating the scowl. She wouldn’t dare ruin this. She couldn’t.

Race just looked confused, flicking his eyes between Spot and Sofia. He shrugged it off and Spot let his muscles relax.

Wriggling out of Spot’s arms, Race went to take his shoes off and line them up by the door in their footwear parade. As soon as he left the kitchen, Spot whirled round to tell Sofia off for trying to drop hints. She spoke before he could.

“You’re welcome. For the prompts. You need to do it soon, why not tonight?”

“I’m not doing it with you here,” Spot hissed, ignoring the fact he did not need prompting. He tried really hard not to swear in front of Sofia (not that it actually ever worked out), and all that would come out of his mouth if he started on the topic was a litany of curse words.

‘Why not?” Sofia asked the question like she couldn’t honestly see any reason why Spot wouldn’t want to propose with her watching over his shoulder. He just sighed, losing the will to continue this discussion.

“It’s private. Personal. I don’t want an audience, no matter what his answer is. And he wouldn’t either.” Spot was not budging on that. No audience. Definitely no Sofia.

“You just want to be able to have engaged people sex after he says yes,” Sofia laughed, jumping back onto the counter and returning to kicking her feet against the cupboard as if to cause maximum annoyance to Spot at once.

“Sofia, I swear to god-”

Spot was cut off as Race walked back into the room. He was met by his sister and his boyfriend looking slightly guilty, and very much in the middle of a conversation they didn’t want to finish in his presence. It unnerved him a little. What were they talking about that they didn’t want to say in front of him? Spot and Sofia got on, sure, but they were rarely best friends. Right now they looked like co-conspirers.

 

That night it was still playing on Race’s mind. The evening had been relatively normal, or at least normal for them, so maybe he had nothing to worry about. But it had just seemed so strange and his paranoia was eating away at him as he cuddled up beside Spot in bed.

The first night Sofia had slept over on the sofa Race had been incredibly anxious about sleeping beside Spot. He’d curled up right at the edge of the bed, careful not to touch Spot until the shorter boy had complained about how cold he was and how they were just going to wake up with Race using Spot as a pillow anyway, so why not just fall asleep that way. It had taken one sincere plea for Race to shuffle back over into Spot’s embrace. Now the only thing they changed when Sofia stayed over was actually wearing clothes in bed. Along with an obvious no sex rule. Spot had begrudgingly accepted both conditions on the understanding that they got to make up for the loss once Sofia had left.

Race was worried there wouldn’t be a ‘they’ after Sofia had left this time.

They didn’t talk much about their feelings, they much preferred to show their love or anger than talk about it, but when they did talk they both felt safest doing it in the dark. It felt easier, where no one could see your face or how much you were blushing. Almost all of the most important conversations of their relationship had happened in bed, with the lights turned off. The time they’d agreed to officially date. The first ‘I love you’s, Spot’s two months to the day after Race’s. The time Race had asked Spot to move in with him. Why should this be any different?

“Scott, what Sofia said earlier? About you being my boyfriend? It just sounded so odd.” Race paused, but he knew he had to go on now he’d started. “Is there something I should know? Are you… are you planning on breaking up with me?” The words were stumbled over and felt almost painful to get out.

They weren’t good at breaking up. Both of them were miserable when they did, and barely moved until one of their friends, usually Davey (always Davey), talked some sense into them and made them get together and talk it out. But that was all always after a fight. A spur of the moment, door-slamming, angry shouting break-up. There had never been anything pre-planned. That sounded so final and Race was certain if they ever broke up like that, they wouldn’t be getting back together, no matter how hard Davey tried.

Spot’s jaw dropped, his eyes filling with pain. He couldn’t believe Race would think that and he hated himself for letting his stupid inability to propose hurt the person he wanted to propose to.

“No! Tony, no.” Spot searched for Race’s hand in the dark and squeezing it tightly. “Completely and absolutely no.”

He kissed Race fervently, trying to convey how much he loved him with one action. Race kissed back, taken aback a little by the intensity of the moment but happy to give in to it. It tasted like relief and desperation and if it were any other night it would have ended in frankly amazing sex. But Sofia was asleep on the other side of the wall and the rules existed for a reason.

Race pulled away from the kiss with a sigh, whining as Spot nipped at his bottom lip one last time before settling back down on the bed. He could just make out Spot smiling up at him in the dark room, looking sated and relaxed. Spot held his arm out for Race to come back to his side, and he willingly did.

“I’m never breaking up with you, Tony,” Spot whispered in his ear, just before drifting off to sleep in a foggy, Race-drunk haze.

The words filled Race with a warm, heavy sensation that he had just enough time to categorise as love before falling asleep himself. His last waking thought was of the ring box in his drawer and whether or not Spot was ready to think about a more permanent way of saying forever.

 

It was an hour drive up to Long Island the next morning, and it turned out Race enjoyed it far less when he had no advance warning and had seen Sofia for only a few hours. He also enjoyed it less when he had to drop Sofia back at home instead of school. Home meant parents. And he didn’t want to talk to them. It was only after 40 minutes of worrying that Sofia tentatively suggested he could drop her off down the road from the house and she could walk up. He smiled across at her, letting all the tension drain out of his muscles, too relieved to lecture her about coming over without an invitation.

It wasn’t that he hated his parents. Actually, yes, yes it was. He’d put up with 16 years of shouting, between them and at him, and sometimes at Sofia, and 16 years of homophobic comments (not directed at him, but they hurt all the same). The second he could move out, he did. He’d never looked back, and didn’t plan on starting to now.

 

The drive home seemed to go incredibly slowly and Race knew it was because he couldn’t wait to get back to Brooklyn. Back to his apartment and to Spot. Where he belonged. As soon as he unlocked the door to home, Spot jumped up from the sofa and sped to the door. Something was clearly bothering him and Race couldn’t say he wasn’t a little worried.   

“Race?” Spot grabbed his hand and tugged him further into the centre of the room. “I… I have something to say.”

Race went willingly, as he always did when Spot led him, but he was concerned. He had no idea what this was about and one million and one horrible ideas ran through his head. Spot was ill, or had cheated on him, or was about to break up with him despite what he’d said last night.

“Scott? What is it?” He almost didn’t want to ask.

“I don’t how to to say this. I want… You’re….” Spot kicked his foot against the floor, angry with himself for not being able to do this.

“Hey, it’s alright, just say it. Whatever it is, it’s okay.”

Spot tried to speak but faltered again. He couldn’t do this. He pulled his gaze away from Race’s concerned eyes and let it focus on the wall over Race’s shoulder. On the light switch on the wall. A thought started forming in Spot’s head. They could always say things with the lights off that they could never say in daylight. Maybe that was the key. He could have waited for night time, but he knew he had to do this now or wait another year to find the courage again.

Pressing a quick kiss to the back of Race’s hand, Spot tugged him across the room and into their bedroom. He put a stop to Race’s confused questions with a brush of his lips, before sitting him on the side of the bed. Turning off the lights and ignoring yet more questions, Spot made his way carefully onto the bed without tripping over something in the black room. His hands found Race and he moved them both until they were lying exactly how they’d lain in bed together since the first time they’d had sex, before they were even dating. They’d had all their important conversations like this, and this was going to be, Spot thought, the most important conversation yet.

And then he finally said it.

“Marry me.”

That stopped Race’s questions, but not the confusion. There was a moment of thick, shocked silence until Race laughed nervously.

“…What? Scotty, be serious.”

“No, Tony, I am serious. I mean it. Please, marry me?”

He remembered the ring a moment too late, blindly fishing the box out of his bedside drawer and clicking it open to reveal a simple silver ring. Not that Race could see it, but he guided the box to his boyfriend’s hands so he could trace the cool metal. All he could afford but more than enough.

“We’ve been together more than five years, and I know it hasn’t been all rainbows and smiles, but we both know we’re far better together than apart. Cos we suck at being apart, so much. So let’s not do that anymore. Please.”

That was as much of a speech as he could manage, but clearly Race deemed it adequate, stunned a little breathless.

“Oh, you idiot.”

“So?” Spot had to be sure. He had to have a certain answer that he could hold on to.

“Yeah.” Race’s tears were evident in his voice. “Go on then.”

Spot tried to kiss him, but whined as Race pulled away, shuffling around in his own chest of drawers. When he returned he pressed a velvety box into Spot’s hand. Spot froze when he felt it. There was no mistaking what it was and he snapped it open to trace a finger across the metal band.

“You…?” Spot began, unable to finish the question.

“I cannot believe that you, the great stoic Scott Conlon, asked me first,” Race giggled, giddy from all the emotions swirling round in his head and tracing circuits in his bloodstream.

That time Spot did pull Race in for a kiss. It was messy and confused, inelegant in the darkness but full of adoration and promises. He couldn’t believe he’d waited so long to ask, but he would never, ever, for as long as he lived, let Sofia know that she’d been right.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I did a passable job of writing Spot. Please let me know if it was awful and what I can improve!


End file.
